Asininity
by Blazing Fool
Summary: In which the 6 God Generals of Lorelei take up sewing, become evangelists, molest Asch, and combat the growing menace that is babies. [ToA] [Sheer crack] [Um, 6 God Generals x 6 God Generals]


_((A/N: Sheesh. Behold the fruits of a late-night writing spree. I have no idea if this belongs in the ToS section, but as we have no ToA one yet I figure this is my best shot. I haven't even completed the game, so all mistakes can be credited to my own impatience and refusal to check the intarwebs.Oh yeah, and maybe some spoilers. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here, for this is the land beyond the maps, where monsters roam and dead things lurk in the night.))_

_**as·i·nine**_

_-adjective_

1. foolish, unintelligent, or silly; stupid: _It is surprising that supposedly intelligent people can make such asinine statements. _

2. of or like an ass: _asinine obstinacy; asinine features. _

Asch the Bloody, charred remnants of the sacred flame (having a pun for the name never failed to woo the ladies, a recent Remday night spent in the company of a certain Princess Kilmasca case in point), was bad. He was evil, he was nasty, he was a social degenerate of the highest caliber, and he was the last and possibly most powerful God-General of a religious order that promoted peace and goodwill. He'd almost wrested the title away from Legsetta, but a certain "wardrobe malfunction" had led to a pistol butt slamming directly into his (admittedly gaping) face at just the wrong moment while sparring. He refused to entertain her notion that it was misintentional- you didn't see Largo's shirt tearing off in the midst of battle, despite Dist's pleas, now did you? It might have something to do with the numerous straps and belts he wrapped around himself, but Asch suspected it of having more to do with the Black Lion's (hopefully) complete lack of (what Sync so loving referred to as) "milk-jubblies."

Yes, he was a ne'er-do-well, indeed, had made it a personal goal. There was a difference between doing well, i.e. carving up a certain failure of a clone's personal mini-army (it was a shame that long-haired fellow in the trenchcoat had to be so whiny about it- shouldn't he be busy holding up the planet's crust or something?) and doing _well,_ which was much more easily identified as doing _good_. In his line of work, doing well typically meant literally fulfilling his title (one of his fondest career memories was a promotional stunt in which Van actually convinced him into filling a bathtub with red dye and allowing a picture shoot, even if old Legs the Quickie had denied the invitation to accompany him), or at the very least destroying a continent or two. For most (albeit normal) people, doing_ good_ would mean adopting a homeless cheagle or some nonsense, but for Asch the Bloody not impaling his secretary for transmitting his documents in their very language counted. Although, to be fair, Alison's jutting and quite possibly overexposed rack more than made up for a simple accounting error (even if the silly wench had managed to interpret "kill the Fon Master and bring me his head" as "Mieu mieu mieu miieeeu, I want to go back to Master Luke, this spy mission stinks, mieu. Nutty girl, Alison.).

His generally unpleasant demeanor masked his true self, wherein beneath a hostile and unfriendly aggression lay the sincere heart and soul of a borderline psychotic (the former of the two words being blatantly generous, of course). It wasn't as though he could be _blamed_ for it- he'd been kidnapped! And to add to that, he'd been forced to work for and eventually _with _his own kidnappers. Had he been molested by Dist after Van brought him to his new home? He wasn't sure, but he liked to think so, because any cause which led to the blaming of Dist was a just one, obvious lie or no. Trauma, Asch believed, coarsed through him as wild and untamed as his haircut. He found this to be quite a satisfactory analogy, seeing as how both managed to choke and hinder him at every conceivable opportunity (and a few inconceivable ones t'boot, for he had never heard tales of one being strangled by one's own mullet during sex- Legsetta would never let him live it down). Van and the God-Generals were to blame for his blatant lack of moral values, and therefore he was justified in doing whatever the hell he wanted to them and anyone else who dared cross his path. They had brought it on themselves.

He was wicked, and also a victim of society, but that was beside the point. Said point being that Asch the Bloody, formerly known as Luke fon Fabre (he was infuriated with the clones' theft of his life, but the name was one thing he was willing to let go), mightiest of Lorelei's servants (and jiggling breasts be damned- well, the owner anyway, the breasts themselves could stay), and Van's own left hand (considering what the God-Generals had caught on the security cam, it was no _wonder _Legs was the right- apparently those fingers were useful for pulling more than one trigger, if you know what I mean, eh? Eh?), was a badass. He was the meanest sword-slinging magic-singing cheagle-flinging sonuvabitch what ever walked the land of Auldrant, and whosoever dared to tango with him was going to be one sorry motherfucker in the morning.

None of this, not one square inch, not the teensiest tiniest drop, computed with the fact that he was currently pinned to the ground by a 16 year old girl and her eerily menacing doll. "Say it!"

Asch growled, dramatic effect somewhat muffled by the floor tile acquainting itself with his face. He muttered something inaudibly.

"What was that?" Arietta twisted his wrists several inches out of proportion, readjusting her easily-won position atop his ass. Sync sniggered something about gender roles and returned to his sewing.

Asch managed to pry his face off the floor and turned his head skywards, offering what he hoped to be a defiant glare. Instead he managed to achieve a look of severe bowel constriction, which might have still had the desired effect of removing her from his ass had she not been so _damnably_ determined. "I said _never_, you black-clad nymphomaniac harpy! Go back to the tentacle hentai film you arrived out of!"

"Nyaaaah!" Arietta the Wild let out a decidedly unmilitary noise, somewhere between a shriek and a moan. Asch found himself hoping she wasn't having some sort of sexual epiphany, and for _him_, no less. Sync was sitting right there, he was closer to her age _and_ far more effeminate. She could dress the Tempest up as her personal slave girl, oh the fun Asch-less times they would share. But, reality was bleak and horror-filled. And was that a sly hand he felt groping his posterior? Oh boy, another rape bestowed upon him by a woman to add on to the list. Legs and Dist would be so jealous. "You jerk! Say you're sorry! Say it! Largo, can you believe what a jerk he is?"

"I _can't_." Largo replied, nonplussed. Apparently he had decided to join his partner in blissful ignorance to the increasingly disturbing scene unfolding on the meeting room floor. He cracked open his tiny spectacles, crossed his legs, and revealed a small book bound in purple, descending into the fantastical land of Victorian romance. Not without one last word of wisdom, however: "Asch, god damn it, you know how she gets. Just swallow your pride and apologize."

"Rrrraggh! Not a chance!" Asch briefly subsided into a fit of futile struggling, all the more amusing (and judging from the tone of her giggles, not a little bit kinky) for the prepubescent broad straddling his backside and crushing his wrists in a vice grip. "Bitch! Release me this instant! I am Asch the Bloody, coated in the blood of a thousand children still pawing for their mother's cold and lifeless breast-"

"I'm almost entirely certain you used that one already." was the Reaper's greeting as he floated in on his magical Laz-Z-Boy (why had he won the yearly raffle, why, oh _why,_ Asch's secret fantasy of flying naked through the female barracks with a crown and scepter had been dashed to pieces! And it could have been bearable if Dist didn't go around telling everyone he built the damn thing himself when everyone knew they'd fished it out of the Necromancer's trash heap). "I say, is it Happy Hour already?"

"Not quite, but we're getting there." was Sync's answer as he gleefully sent Guy a nightmare of being smothered in Tear's breasts. How stupid _were_ those fools, sleeping in the inn over in town? They were so close he could almost taste them. Just, not the guys, because that would be weird. Van probably wouldn't appreciate this particular method of torture, but then again, maybe he would. (Someday they planned to tell their illustrious leader about the true sweeping range of the security cams, but not yet. They'd taken an unspoken vow to do so only when he stopped carrying that picture of the girl to his private quarters, so, you know, it was essentially a vow of permanent silence.)

It might even have the added side effect of hitting the replica on the side, and as Sync had caught more than a few of the looks Asch's little twin sent the Sergeant, he figured the results were bound to be highly interesting. _Highly_ being the operative word, for the budget cutbacks had been affecting the inn as badly as everything else, forcing the entire little group to share a single room. Yes, fun times to be had by all- it was a shame he couldn't see it in person.

"Hey, shut the hell up." Asch shot back, a tad belatedly. It was getting harder to concentrate, for her perfume was Ode de Angst and his head was swimming. "They're my threats, I'll use them as many times as I want."

"Yes, but originality adds _flavor_ to it." The self-proclaimed Rose (he was more of a tulip, if anything, or perhaps a _Phalaenopsis_- um, not that Asch was an expert of any sort) took a seat (for although he was already seated, he was Dist the Goddamn Rose, and no one was going to lecture _him_ on the proper way to make an entrance) at his desk, propping his feet up lazily. "And, really. A _thousand _infants? By my count it was one, and it can hardly be counted since the worst you did was thwap it on the head and run like the Abyss itself was behind you."

"It was looking at me funny. Sizing me up. I was its prey."

"Yes, for everyone knows that helpless wailing infants are the bane of God-Generals everywhere." Dist sneered at Asch who, under normal circumstances, might have drop-kicked him in the face, but was in no condition to do so now. "Killing children is _cliché_. Variety is the spice of life. Not that I expect a barbaric savage like you to understand the beauty of art."

"Everyone loves babies."

"Enough foolishness!" cried Arietta, staunchly ignoring Sync and Largo's chuckles at the very notion. "Apologize for your crimes! We're a religious institution, in case you forgot; you're supposed t'beg for forgiveness for your, um, sins and stuff. So make with the confession so I can get with the absolving. Praise Lorelei, A_men-A_!"

"I knew letting her hang out in Keterburg was a bad idea." Largo sighed, rubbing his temples. "First she blows our gold _and_ the casino owner, now she's been corrupted by the local evangelist. Dist, you have an obsession with watching small children- can't you keep an eye on her every once in a while?"

"She is sixteen, and well past the Age of Purity." replied Dist, frowning as he realized that making it a proper noun didn't help his argument much. "She can do whatever she wants. By the by, would anyone mind explaining just what it is that's making yon fair maiden sexually violate our demonic poster boy?"

"She is _not_ raping me." Asch snarled. "Stop wiggling your hips, Ari."

"He insulted Bartholomew!" cried Arietta ferociously, biting Asch on the arm and ignoring his yelps of pain. Now Asch was treated with the unpleasant rite of passage that most new Oracle Knight recruits received after foolishly inquiring about how she earned her title.

"Nyaaaagh! All I did was tell her not to bring that hellish liger in the meeting room with her! Ow, ow, gaaah- Sweet _Yulia _that hurts! Don't just sit there, get her off me! I'll _kill you all_!"

"Actually, I think you _should_ apologize." Dist gestured for them to be silent, and in the sudden intermission a tearing sound could be heard. "I believe the aforementioned beast is ripping Van's new tapestry to shreds out in the hall. He'll be furious, and it might be in your best interest to not be here when he shows up…"

Approaching footsteps only served to drive home the Reaper's point. Asch's pride was promptly bitchslapped by the fear of his boss. Van's outraged voice rang throughout the halls: "Oh, what the _hell_, Asch!"

"How does he even know to blame_ me!_?" Asch hissed. "It's_ her_ pet!"

"He senses the aura of sin emanating from you." Arietta sneered. "For it was Foretold, oh ye philanderers and defilers of Light, Lorelei's Wrath will shine down upon ye in a Heavenly Blaze, for thou hast Insultest the fuzzy Bartholomew and shall be_ Punished Accordingly_!"

"Yeah, yeah, we all know I was a goddamn _saint _before I insulted your precious pet murderer. Now get off me, I have some very important running-for-my-life to do!"

Apparently the acoustics of the hall were tricky bastards, a fact which Asch would remember forevermore, for before Arietta could utter a word Van spoke up from the doorway. "Uh, guys?"

As Asch the Bloody stared back at his boss helplessly, two thoughts occurred to him. A) How did Arietta get his pants off without compromising her position, and B) How did she do it without him noticing?

"So, I was thinking we could have a meeting." Van continued after a moment's hesitation, staring stoically ahead and refusing to look at the sight that was his best general apparently being sexually violated by a sixteen-year-old girl. "I was _thinking_ that, but now I think maybe we should take the day off. Important stuff to do, towns to destroy, therapy to get to, you know how it is. Have a blast."

"Amen," murmered Largo, his attention affixed solely on Sir Chuffrey's sudden proposal to Lady Belinda on page 712. Sync pumped a fist in the air, praising horny teenage girls and certain boneheaded God-Generals.

Arietta finally released Asch, who accepted his pants back with silent gratitude. He could vaguely make out the sound of Van swiftly departing, with Dist following and babbling something about a new fontech device he'd invented- the "kamerah", and how he had managed to "take pikters" of Arietta and himself. Asch wasn't sure what a pikter was, but he'd be damned if he was going to let Dist steal from him. He'd kick flower-boy's ass later, but for now he needed to reinstate himself as the top dog around here.

"Whooo!" cheered Sync, apparently not quite as sober as they had made him out to be. Sending nightmares about the Commadant's sister's chest to innocent young men was quite normal for him, after all. "We're off for the day! Arietta, you gotta rape Asch more often!"

_Then again, just what defines_ normal _around here anyway?_

Asch grinned. It was not a happy grin. It was really more of a stabby grin.

"I'm sorry, Sync, I didn't quite catch what you said. I'm pretty sure you _might_ have made a really stupid suggestion to Ms. Wild over there, based on a nonsensical event that you dreamed up and that _never really happened_. But I could be wrong. I _hope_ I'm wrong, for your sake- and where _do_ you think you're going?"

Sync struggled and tried to release the grip the crimson swordsman had over the back of his collar. "Ack! C'mon, Asch, I- I was _kidiiiiing!"_ Arietta giggled and ran outside to comfort the distraught Bartholomew.

"…Idiots." mumbled Largo.


End file.
